Trailer Trash Barb
by Ben Barrett
Summary: Barbie - What if Ken and Barbie had been complete trash? What if Barbie was a dominating white trash redneck and Ken was her cowering husband? What if they lived in a trailer park? Find out all the answers to these questions and many you didn't even know you had. Parody. Oneshot. Rated M for serious adult content, extreme language, and a few racial slurs. Don't like, don't read.


**Trailer Trash Barb  
**by Ben Barrett

Barb was madder'n a chicken in a den of weasels. She'd just been gettin ready for bed. She had her hair in rollers and green skin cream on her face, and she'd just put on her good gown, cause she'd been hopin she could bully Ken enough to get him to sleep with her. She hadta do that more and more these days to get him in the mood. But now her plans, which were gettin good and laid and then maybe sendin Ken to the store to get her some cotton candy, had been ruined. Her stupid dyke sister Skipper had gotten thrown outta another private school. She'd long been banished from public school, so that meant Barb hadta sometimes buy the cheapest cigarettes to be able to pay for her education.

And why was Barb payin for Skipper's education and not their momma? Because their momma was a stupid crackwhore bitch who went and got herself locked up in prison again. That's where she was gonna stay, cause Barb hadn't had (and still didn't have) the money to get her a good lawyer (not that it would've done much good anyway). Besides, it might do that crackhead bitch some good to stay locked up for a few years. Maybe she'll take her damn head out of her ass and get a damn job.

So that all amounted to this: Skipper was now Barb's responsibility. No one else in the family wanted her. That meant that _Barb _had to pay for her sister to get an education, _Barb _had to sometimes keep herself from crackin the little bitch's head open with her rolling pin, and _Barb _who had to get these stupid fuckin calls tellin her that, once again, Skipper was her problem.

"Shit, I don't need this," she drawled. "I ain't got the money for it. Ken done blown the transmission out in the Chevy, and I gotta pay some stupid fuckin crook of a grease monkey to fix it, and he's prob'ly gonna fuckin screw me. All because Ken is a no good, stupid piece of worthless shit."

She was ranting to herself, as there was no one else in the room. At least, not until she called Ken a piece of worthless shit. Ken, as luck (or lack thereof) would have it, walked in right at that moment and heard everything. He immediately tried to retreat, because she was pissed as fuck and already aiming it at him. He did not want to be in the same room with this monster. He was already sporting a black eye and a scar on his cheek that had required five stitches. She had ordered him to tell the doctors that he'd been kicked by the mule. They didn't even have a fucking mule. They lived in the trashiest trailer park in the trashiest part of what Ken thought to be the trashiest city on Earth. There was no way they could keep a mule here and not have someone eat it, steal it for crack, molest it or torment it.

His escape from the room was thwarted. She'd heard him come in and before he could get two steps back the way he came, she whirled on him.

"You mother fucker!" she screamed. "Why'd you have to go and blow up the Chevy? That's goan cost money we ain't got."

"I'm sorry, dear," Ken said, cringing. "Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

"Yeah, there is," she said. "Go next door and see Randy. Randy likes you. You tell that mother fucker that he owes me a damn joint. I smoke that shit for my 'thritis. That motherfucker gonna come over _here _and beg _me_ to front him a joint till payday. He knows what I use it for, the cocksucker. An'way, you tell him I'll forget the joint if he runs you to the store."

"What am I getting?" he asked, praying that it would not be another request for a shitload of cough syrup. He had explained to her, several times, that you cannot buy that amount of cough syrup legally, and every time she had hurt him in some way. He hated that fat bitch.

"_What you're gettin_," Barb said, "is a twenty-four piece box of double fried, double breaded chicken tenders down at the Chuck N Cluck. Then I wantcha to go down to Walmart and get me one of them industrial-sized jars o mayonnaise. Gotta have somethin to dip my chicken in. And while you're at Walmart, see if they got any more o' that Pabst Blue Ribbon on sale. If they do, bring me a twelve pack. Got all that, stupid?"

"Yes, dear," Ken said.

"Oh, and pick me up a carton of Pyramids."

Ken took off like his ass was on fire. You didn't have to ask him twice to go somewhere Barb wasn't.

When her worthless sack of shit husband left, she settled her ass into one of them stupid uncomfortable kitchen chairs with the flower patterns no one liked. She hated sittin at this table. Her corns always hurt worse when she was here, and the chair made her bad back hurt sumthin bad. She sat there for a long time, waitin for Skip to come through the door so she could tear into her ass. She poured herself a big glass of sweet tea, looked at it and poured it back in the NASCAR pitcher, which she proceeded to drink from. Hell, she wasn't 'spectin any important company. No reason to stand on ceremony in her own double wide railer. Why should she? It was her name on the damn trailer note.

Skip came walking in, saw Barb sitting there in her gown, looking mad as fuck, and she just threw up her hands.

"Okay, Barb, I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know it was against the rules to do that to the other girls. They seemed okay with it."

"You stupid fuckin leg licker!" Barb shouted, comin at her with the rollin pin. Skip ducked out of the way and retreated to the far side of the kitchen. "You cain't. Keep gettin. Thrown out. Of school!"

With every pause, Barb would slam her rollin pin on the counter. She thought this was real smart. Not only was she drivin home the point she was tryin to make to the dumb bitch, but she was also squishin a bunch o' them damn roaches she been tryin to get rid of for two damn years.

"Barb!" Skip said, tryin to be heard over the slamming. "It wasn't my fault!"

"Oh, it waddn't?" Barb said, placing her fat honey ham hands on her enormous sides. "Who's fault was it then, Skip? Who told you to be gettin all nasty with the other girls in the dorms and in the locker rooms and shit?"

"There's nothing wrong with being a lesbian!" Skip shouted.

"It's a fuckin _Christian _private school, dumb ass," Barb said, lightin up a cigarette. Man this stupid little cunt could make her heart race. Doctor said she needed to take care of her heart and stop eatin so much marg'rine. Fuckin Know-It-All prick. The cigarettes made her feel loads better. If she could get a couple o' beers inner, she'd probably be pretty damn civil. But this little bitch needed to get a grip on herself, or Barb was gonna have the law come take her away and put her stupid ass in foster care.

Around this time, Ken came back in carrying bags. Barb looked at him with her beady little eyes as if sizing him up. Perhaps she had finally decided to kill him and end his torment. Thank you, God.

"Drop the shit on the table and get the fuck out," she said. "You know I don't like you bein round my sister."

Ken dropped the bags on the table and hauled ass. He got out of the kitchen just as she cracked her first beer. She was always on that bullshit. She suspected him of sleeping with every woman in town, and often told him that if she caught another woman's smell on his cock (because apparently each woman's vagina has its own distinct smell) she would gut him like a fish. She was even that way about Skip, though he'd sure as hell never gave her any reason to be. He had no interest in sleeping with a fifteen-year old lesbian.

But she was insane like that. Completely out of her mind. She had once accused him of bein a damn liberal Democrat Yankee piece of dog shit. He was too terrified by her to argue the point that he had voted Republican all his life and had been born in Tennessee. But she came up with crap like that. She once accused the neighbor of trying to peek in her bedroom window. The neighbor in question was a ninety-year old great-grandmother who lived alone with the help of medical aides and could barely stand on two legs.

Ken went to his toolshed where he kept all the good tools hidden under lock and key. If Barb found out he had tools like these, she'd pawn em. She'd say that she was doing it to pay the trailer note, which was three months behind, and then she'd spend it on cigarettes, booze, maybe weed, and eat out at the HUNGRY FELLER buffet every chance she got. You could always tell when she'd been at the Hungry Feller because her muumuu would be covered in barbeque sauce.

In the sanctity of his shed, Ken reached under his pile of Playboys and grabbed his gun. Like he did every night, he would stroke it and wonder why he was doing it. Was he plotting to kill himself? Was he plotting to shoot that fat sea cow Barb? He could never figure it out. He just found comfort in the gun. He was beginning to even talk to it. He didn't say much. It would usually be something simple like "Missed you, old friend" or "I've waited all day long to hold you."

No, Barb wasn't driving him insane.

He thought then about all the fucked up shit she'd done to him. She hit him, she called him a pussy and a sissy, and told him that if he ever left her she would run him over with her daddy's pickup truck. She had even cheated on him, sort of. She had started having some kind of weird fling with this Australian trash heap named Blaine. They'd met online between Barb's many rounds of online Bingo. He'd been one of those guys who didn't want to have sex with fat women, but wanted them to sit on him and crush him. Ken had called him on it. He'd said that if Blaine wanted Barb, he could have the bitch.

"Oh, no mate," he'd told him. "It's not like that. I just like 'avin a fat chick on top of me. You don't know what a rush that is, when you see that _enormous_"- and he said _enormous _in such an over-emphasized Crocodile Hunter way that he'd actually almost sounded like Steve Irwin- "ass comin down on ya, and all you can do is brace yaself, mate. Then when they're on ya, and all you can feel is this _giant _set of asscheeks just _consumin you_..."

Ken had cut him off right then. He hadn't wanted to hear _anything _else Blaine had to say. He didn't think that really counted as Barb cheating on him, but it was still fucking gross.

Back in the kitchen, Barb finished her beer and gave a giant belch before she smashed the can against her forehead. It would mess up her face rub, but she could give a fuck less about her damn mask right now.

"So we gotta decide what we're goan do with _you_," she said, glarin a damn hole through Skip, who was sittin on the opposite side of the table, lookin bored. "Won't be able to get you in no more o them fancy pants highfalootin Christian schools. And I sure as hell ain't home schoolin ya!"

Barb cracked another beer and fumed. This whole thing was makin her fuckin mad. And as if Skip hadn't made her mad enough, now her damn acid reflux was gonna start actin up. Her chest was burnin like a campfire, and she needed some damn Tums or some Rolaids. She wished that she hadn't eaten them habanero spare ribs and tater salad for dinner.

"I ain't worthless, Barb," Skip said. "I can get me a job down at the Dollar General. I know me some folks that work there. Bet they could get me on. Shit, in a couple months I might even be a supervisor making a whole eight dollars an hour."

"You stupid little bitch!" Barb said, picking up a couple biscuits left over from their mornin biscuits and gravy and chunked them at her. "You as damn stupid as that negro Christie! That bitch has got seven chitlins born by seven different studs. She's tryin to feed seven fuckin young uns on minimum wage she makes down at the Yummy Burger. You're _that _stupid, Skip."

"I can take of myself!" Skip said, getting to her feet.

"No, you cain't," Barb said, slamming her ham fist down on the table. "And you sit yer little stank ass down before I _take _yer little stank ass down. Your choice."

Skip sat.

Back in the shed, Ken had been joined by Todd and his sister Tutti. Man, that Tutti bitch had some nice tits. Even nicer when they were all good and baked like they were now. They'd come pretty quick when Ken had told them he was breaking into his emergency stash. Smoking from the e-stash is a rare opportunity that only comes along once in a weed drought.

"I don't understand," Ken said, smoking a cigarette and acting far more flamboyant than he probably intended, "why both men and women have titties."

"What?" Todd asked. "Dude, you're fucking blitzed."

"No, I'm being serious here," Ken replied. "Women have titties to breast feed the young, but what purpose do they serve on men? Can men even breast feed a baby?"

"I don't know, Ken," Tutti said, snickering. "Why don't you go ask someone if you can breast feed their baby and see how that works out for you."

Tutti and Todd both started laughing, which pissed Ken off.

"Don't fucking laugh at me, man," he said. "I'm talking real shit here. It's like, if women have boobies and men have boobies, did men have tits once too and they just lost them over trillions of years of evolution?"

"You're fucking retarded man," Todd said, taking a long hit off the joint. "Why you thinkin bout men having titties anyway?"

Before Ken could answer, his phone rang. It was Barb. Shit. He jumped up and walked outside the shed so that she wouldn't hear his two guests. She didn't like it when people came to visit.

"Yes, dear?" he asked.

"Yer fuckin sister in law," she snarled at him.

"What about her?"

"She goan get her ass a fuckin job, and it sure as hell ain't goan be at no Dollar General, and she gonna move her fuckin ass out. I ain't payin to support that little bitch."

Ken didn't want to argue with her that a fifteen-year old cannot move out on their own.

"Yes, dear," he said.

"She got one month to get a fuckin paycheck in my hand so you can buy us some fuckin groceries. I ain't about to go hungry cause of that little twat. I'll eat her..._Yeah, that's right, you heard me, Skip. I'll fucking eat you alive... I don't give a damn how hard the police look for your bones when I dissolve them bitches in lye. Get your trashy white ass away from me before I chain you up in the outhouse... _Don't fucking touch her, Ken. If you lay one hand on her, I swear I will cut your dick off and feed it to Fuzzikins."

Fuzzikins was the little pomeranian she carried with her everywhere she went. The dog had long given up trying to escape her massive bosoms and had basically just succumbed to its fate. Every time Ken saw the dog, there was a look in its eyes that was begging for someone to kill it and give it some peace.

"Yes, dear," he said. Fucking bitch.

She hung up without another word and Ken went back to his cloud of smoke. He was glad the conversation had ended when it did and that Barb hadn't had any plans for him. Todd had just opened the Cheetos and he wanted to get himself a handful or two. He was fucking hungry.

Barb stood in the bedroom on the second floor and watched Ken by the shed. The smoke was pouring out of the place. He'd no doubt invited that trashy ho bitch Tutti and her dumbass brother Todd over to smoke and probably do other things. She didn't know if he was fucking around with Tutti or Todd, but she was positive he was fucking one of them. Hell, he might be fucking both of them, the queer.

She walked from the window, rubbing at her inner thigh, right up by her taco. She couldn't wear them damn underwear no more. She was so big that puttin em on would be hard, gettin em off would be harder, and with her diabetes when she had to pee she had to fucking piss like a racehorse. She didn't have time to fight with the mother fuckers. So she was naked under her muu muu, and man did it cause her to chafe sumthin bad. She really felt it where her bodacious thighs rubbed together when she walked. That's why she spent most of her time sitting.

She went into the bathroom and settled down onto her reinforced toilet. As she released the catch of the day in a large brown spray accompanied by a very long and audible wet noise, she thought about Ken. She remembered when he useta be a cashier at Big Taco. She'd come in in her nicest maternity pants (back when she could still wear maternity pants) and bat her lashes at him. She'd order the 64 ounce Diet Pibb. Diet cause she'd been watchin her figure. He'd hand her her drink and bag of twelve tacos (all for her) and tell her she was the purtiest thang he ever saw.

That was back when she'd thought he was a man, back before he'd lost his fuckin balls and turned into a snivelin pussy. They useta go out to the junk yard in Ken's old yella truck and dance beneath the light of the trash fires to Ted Nugent music. They used to go through the drive thru, and he'd surprise her by spending the extra fifty cents to get her the large onion rings. He was so thoughtful and romantic like that. Sometimes he'd even pay for em to get into one movie, then treat her by helping her to sneak into another movie she wanted to see.

Now she fuckin hated him. As she got in the shower to clean the shit from her ass (because she no longer had the ability to reach and clean it by hand) she realized that she hadn't watched her stories today. That's okay. They were all recorded every day, along with Dukes of Hazzard repeats, old episodes of Hee Haw, anything involving Elvis, and The Price is Right. She used to watch Jerry Springer, but she found them people too be too uncivilized for her liking. She was way more sophisticated than any o them freaks, tell you what.

She decided that she'd forgo makin Ken have sex with her tonight. Instead, she'd watch her stories, prolly the news to see if they got any information bout when Francie was supposeta be gettin out of the slammer. Francie was up for parole after spendin five years in prison for stabbin her ex boyfriend repeatedly with a screwdriver, so they'd haveta have a real throw down when she finally got out. She might even buy the name brand barbeque sauce instead of the Great Value Walmart brand. She might even be willin to splurge enough to get a bag of Doritos.

Speaking of...

She looked around to make sure no one was spying on her, then reached into the drawer of the bedside table she'd found in a trash pile on the side of the road. Hell, it just took a little Febreze and some bleach to get the smell of cat piss out of it. She pulled out a box of Hostess powdered donuts, a Snickers bar, and a bag of sour cream n onion tater chips. She could use a snack before bed. She turned on her stories, then stuffed her face as she went on Facebook and spread gossip and dissention. She accused Midge Sherwood of preaching falsehoods and lies, and how dare she suggest that our precious Lord and Savior would ever condone livin amongst fags and queers. Midge promptly deleted the comment, but she was already on to someone else. She posted on Ken's selfie that he needed to brush his fuckin teeth and that they're as yellow as French's mustard.

She made several comments tellin everyone how the towelhead sand niggers were gonna blow us all to hell. She said the terr'rists were everywhere and were goan force everyone into that dadgum Shakira law or whatever them Arabs called it. Most people ignored her, as they did every night. But she went to bed satisfied that she'd educated the poor ign'ant masses about the impeding dangers to our freedom to carry a damn gun.

God bless fuckin America, where Barb was free to be Barb. What did they really expect her to turn out to be? She sure as hell wouldn'ta been no anorexic crack ho model. She was Barb. Get the fuck out of her way or she'll fuckin trample you.


End file.
